


At thirteen she does not yet hold herself like a weapon

by The_Capricious_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Capricious_One/pseuds/The_Capricious_One
Summary: Harry Potter inspired poetry





	1. The Timeturner

  
She is thirteen  
and she does not think twice  
about plucking the breath  
from her future lungs.  
A body replaces itself  
every seven years.  
She steals time from  
a woman not yet born  
(a sword not yet forged  
in the unforgiving fires of war,  
plunged headlong into the cold  
tempering waters of loss,  
beaten until she loses the brittleness  
of unfolded steel.)  
At thirteen she does not yet  
hold herself like a weapon.  
  
At twenty one (three bodies gone,  
the child, the witch, and the warrior,  
and a fourth just begun,  
nameless and unformed)  
she stands tall and  
bares her teeth at her enemies.  
They call it a smile,  
but she knows better.  
It is a promise.  
She will right  
the injustices of the world,  
and she will not be stopped.  
 _Over my dead body,_  
countless people have told her.  
She will oblige them.  
She will tear out their soft throats with  
snapping teeth,  
eviscerate them with quick clever words  
and they  
never seem to see it coming


	2. The Second Task

  
I go to the calm water’s edge  
and put my head under.  
Into the stillness I open  
the mysteries of the universe;  
on the outside, it gleams like gold;  
inside, it screams.  
It is only here where I cannot breathe  
that the tangled knot of confusion unfurls.  
It sings to me,  
and for once, the words are clear.  
It calls to me:  
Listen, child  
just a little longer—  
until the last bubble of air  
has left your lungs  
and at that moment  
you will understand the will  
of the universe


	3. The Final Battle

the life of my heart  
is crimson and gold,  
and it does not hesitate to sacrifice.  
My house does not cower;  
we are the ones born seeking  
a just cause.  
Countless have laid their bones  
on the altar of nobility.

I go down to the forest,  
and turn the holy stone over  
three times.  
“Mother. Father,” I cry out,  
and you are there,  
like you were never gone.  
“We are proud of you,”  
you say, but it is only a shadow of you.  
You are young, too young,  
and I do not trust your words.  
Death has not aged you.

“Will it hurt?” I ask,  
and you lie to me.   
I can still remember your screams.  
But you love me,  
and you lie,  
and I pretend that I am not walking  
into the jaws of the same beast  
which devoured you,  
so long ago.


	4. The Fall of a Mentor

all around us lie  
the faceless dead,  
watching us with unseeing eyes.

I pour the water  
Into his mouth fist over fist,  
but it is no use.  
his mind is unaccustomed to innocent gifts  
and so his body can make  
no use of it.

he clings to pride  
as if it were the sum of him  
the ultimate measure of his worth.  
he thinks a quick sharp death  
suits his purposes more  
than a grey decline.  
(he always did appreciate a firework  
more than a painting.)

he flies over the parapet  
as boneless as if he were asleep.


	5. This is What it Means to be Human

  
this is what it means  
to be human:  
someone you love dies,  
and somehow  
the world keeps turning.  
(you could have sworn that it stopped.  
you certainly did.)  
  
evil comes to power again  
and many of the people around  
you will not call it by its name.  
last time they promised  
to kill you  
and everything you love  
and this time you fear  
that their plans have not changed  
(and you have so many people  
that you love.)  
they did not begin with murder  
last time, either.  
  
once upon a time  
the people protested  
(but only a little)  
and a few resisted  
(but not enough)  
and it is only by grace of others  
that your ancestors survived  
(but not enough.  
there are branches of your family tree  
that are bare and stripped,  
torn out by the roots.  
all dead.)  
  
this is what it means  
to be human:  
from barren soil,  
we grow and grow again  
out of the ash of great fires  
(fires of our own making)  
but here is the catch:  
we can never rise from the ground  
the same as when  
we were unburned


End file.
